


Vulnerable

by accidentalapostate



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Cassandra Pentaghast Mention, Cole Mention, Dorian Pavus is a Good Friend, Drinking, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, Intoxication, Krem Mention, Minor Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, POV Multiple, Solas vs. Cullen rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6836893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentalapostate/pseuds/accidentalapostate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Solas ends the romantic entanglement between he and Inquisitor Niamh Lavellan, she does not handle it very well. After locking herself in her room for days, Dorian forces insists that she rejoin the world of the living, and partake in some alcohol consumption. It's a terrible idea really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three Days Too Many

     “Oh. This will not do,” Dorian exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration as he paced in front of the Inquisitor’s quarters. “Nia, my dear, you have been in there for _three days._ _Three!”_

     He stopped with a huff at the door. He had been concerned about his friend ever since she left Skyhold with Solas, only to return alone. Her eyes and nose were swollen, her face even redder than usual. He did not think too much of it at first. It was not uncommon for the Inquisitor and her lover to get into heated debates, and Niamh, with her heart ever on her sleeve, always stormed away in tears. Later Solas would slink to her room and apologize. Problem solved.

     This time was different, however. The Inquisitor had locked herself away refusing to speak to anyone. Solas had not even attempted to approach her door. Dorian kept an eye on him, too. He swore he observed the normally stoic elf slam his fists into his desk in the midst of reading, then slump, drop his face into his hands, and shake violently.

     Dorian did not wish to insert himself into Niamh’s love affairs. He was not her matchmaker, he was her friend, and she was his, the best he could recall ever having. He was simply concerned for her well-being. Not only was the elf potentially suffering from malnourishment, not having touched the meals Cole kept leaving at her door, but she was also trying Cassandra’s patience. She missed every meeting and shirked every duty she had.  It took all of the Tevinter’s wit and charm to keep the Seeker from shield-bashing her door down.  


     If he could only get her to talk to him.

     “Wha’s goin’ on up here,” boomed a strident voice behind him, causing him to jump and crane his neck to see the source.   


     “Ah,” Dorian remarked, “Sera.” After the shock of the elf’s sudden appearance had faded from his body, he turned his attention back to the sturdy wooden door that kept him and everyone else form checking on Niamh.  Sera sauntered up beside him, playfully resting her head on his shoulder.   
  
     “Worried about Ladybits,” she asked, “You’ve been tryin’ to get at her for hours, seems like.” She continued to let her head lay upon him, whether it was her way of showing sympathy or shared concern, or whether she had no regard for personal space, Dorian did not know.    
  
     “Of course I’m worried,” Dorian chided, “As well a friend should be. She’s locked herself away in her room and refused to emerge for three days. She won’t even speak.” His voice was thick with worry. 

     “Why d’you figure she’s being wonky like that?” Sera posed, before remembering what had happened the other night. “‘S about Sol-ass innit? What’d he do to make her cry this time? Call the Dalish ‘Halla humpers,” cuz I would. OOH! I bet he wouldn’t put out! No elven glory for the-”  


     “Sera, please,” Dorian interrupted having had enough of her making light of a serious situation.  Sera scowled and stuck her tongue out at him.  She opened her mouth to blurt a profane response, but was silenced when the clicking and scratching of latches unhooking could be heard from behind the wooden portal. 

     The two stared at the door with anticipation and it slowly creaked open, revealing to them one hot mess of an elven woman.  Her usually braided hair was down, disheveled, and stuck to her face in the most unflattering way possible. There were deep purple circles under her still swollen viridian eyes. She lifted a delicate, pale hand to swipe the hair out of her eyes, subsequently revealing a bare forehead where once the deep green filigree of Mythal’s vallaslin was etched.  


     Neither Sera nor Dorian could suppress expressions of shock at the sight. Dorian gasped, bringing a ringed hand to his mouth.  Sera’s eyes grew wide in awe, and she tilted her head slightly to the right as she examined the unmarked face.  


     “Whoa,” she muttered, “You look less...elfy.” Sera smiled, proud of her friend for ridding herself of the ridiculous tattoos.  Niamh did not seem so thrilled. She frowned silently at the younger elf.    
  
     “Nia, what in the world happened to you,” Dorian asked, his voice pitched, “Where are your markings?” He rushed up to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, looking her directly in the eyes. She met his gaze with her own, and it was the most tormented, pained look Dorian had ever received. 

     “That’s a good question for Solas, if you see him,” she snipped, her voice dry.  Then, her whole expression softened and she asked, almost in a whimper, “Have you seen him, talked to him?”

     The lamentation in her voice almost brought Dorian to tears. “No, I haven’t talked to him,” he answered softly, pulling the petite woman into a tight embrace. “I was more concerned with talking to you. You’ve had us all in a fuss, you know? I did notice you were gone.”  He tried to lighten the mood only slightly.  Niamh laughed at his jest, bitterly, but it was still a laugh.   
  
     “What Dorian’s really sayin’ is he’s been pacin’ a rut in front of your door for days ‘n’ the rest of us have had to keep Cassandra busy,” Sera piped in, “ She really doesn’t like bees. At all.” 

      Niamh brushed off Sera’s comments, in no mood for her rowdy sense of humor. “Dorian, c-can we talk.  I need help,” she asked, meekly.   


     “Of course,” he replied with a nod, “I’m all ears.”   


     “Well, I’m not,” Sera scoffed, feigning a gag. “I can’t take all this emotion-y shite.  Jus’ tell me who I need to hit.  Or in this case, jus’ say the word and it’s bedroll lizards for the grumpy old prick.”  Niamh just shook her head silently, and Sera took her leave, not caring to hear about the drama. 


	2. Utter Egg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh tells her story to Dorian.

     “Start at the very beginning,” Dorian urged, as he sat down beside Niamh on the couch in her quarters, a hot cup of tea in his hand, which he handed to her gently, making sure she did not burn her fingers. Niamh had never been more grateful for his friendship than at this moment.  It was hard for her to admit that she needed help, but she knew she would go insane if she did not let someone know what happened.  Dorian was the only person she would even consider speaking to about it at this point in time.

     “After we returned from the Arbor Wilds, I went to talk to Solas,” she began shakily, Solas’ name like a hot coal on her tongue. “He wanted to go somewhere secluded to talk. He always does.” She furrowed her brow and shook her head in an attempt to keep from crying again. 

     Dorian remained silent, waiting for her to continue.   
  
     “We went to Crestwood, to the most beautiful little grove. There was a pond, a waterfall,” she explained, knowing she need not include a description of the setting, but wanting to all the same. “He told me that he wanted to find someway to show me what I meant to him. He said the best way was to tell me the truth.” 

     “The truth,” Dorian asked, “As if he has been lying this whole time? I swear that man is more cryptic than even the most esoteric studies in Tevinter magic. Anyway, continue.” He motioned Niamh with a wave of his hand.

     “I don’t know Dorian.  It seemed as if he wanted to tell me something important, something different than what he ended up telling me,” the Inquisitor speculated, desperately wanting her conjectures to be true. “It’s like he got scared at the last minute.”

     “And what did he end up telling you, Nia,” the Tevinter questioned, his curiosity piqued.

     “He told me that my vallaslin markings were not what I was taught by my people,” Niamh answered, her words hesitant. “The Dalish believe that the markings serve to honor our gods. According to Solas, they historically served a much darker purpose.” She paused and looked down into the cup of tea she was holding.

     “What purpose was that?”

     “They were slave markings,” Niamh stated, her voice brittle. “My whole life, I thought I was representing a proud symbol of my heritage, when I have actually been continuing a cruel practice begun by my ancestors.” She curled her nose, a look of utter disgust painting her features.

     “So you had Solas take them off? And this is why you’ve been so distraught,” Dorian asked carefully, not wanting to make any assumptions.

    “No,” Niamh retorted tersely before recanting. “Ugh. I mean, yes. Solas knew a spell to remove them, and he took them off. He told me I was free, and that I was so beautiful.  He kissed me.” Her words became quicker, more breathless, and more loaded as the story reached its resolution.

     “That seems,” Dorian interjected, “Romantic.” 

     “And then he said he couldn’t be with me,” the Inquisitor said quickly, as if ripping off a bandage, a single tear streamed down her cheek “He told me that he was distracting me from my duty, and that it would never happen again.”

    “Well...that escalated quickly,” her friend said as he offered her a handkerchief from his pocket, “That utter egg. What did you say to him? Did you tell him he was being a dolt?”

     Niamh shook her head, laughing bitterly again. “I shoved him.  I told him to tell me that I was just a casual dalliance so I could call him a cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch and move on.”

     Dorian chuckled, “I admire your bravado, my dear girl. And what did he say?”

     “That he couldn’t tell me he didn’t care. I think I heard him apologize as I stormed away, but I did not care at the time.  I wanted to be as far from him as I could,” she shook her head in regret, “Now I wish I had stayed, asked more questions, at least tried, but knowing Solas it wouldn’t matter. When he has his mind set on something, it’s nearly impossible to change it.”  She took a sip of tea, staring off into space.

     “I do believe you responded as anyone who cares for another would,” Dorian reassured her, touching her shoulder sympathetically, “I am sorry.  I know you care deeply for him, but you deserve much better. You’re a rare jewel.” He winked at her playfully.

     “Dorian, are you taking advantage of my vulnerable state,” she asked teasingly.

     Dorian threw his hands up in false surrender, “Guilty as charged!” He laughed and added, “You may be a remarkable woman, but alas, that does not make you a man.”

     Niamh laughed, sincerely laughed for the first time in days, and it was wonderful.  Sadly it was short-lived as flashes of tender moments with Solas flooded her mind. Kisses in the Fade that deepened into more, wandering hands, soft caresses.  

     She remembered their first time, her first time. She could still feel him pressed against her, his lips, his hands, him.  Her heart began to ache and she felt it shatter to dust in her chest.  _ Shit. I was almost okay. _ Tears began to flow more quickly from her eyes, earning her a stunned and worried look from Dorian.

    “Nia?”    
  
    “I’m sorry,” she rasped through tears, “I thought too much.”   
  
     Dorian let out a sigh, “Terrible idea, really,” he admitted and then, “C’mon let’s go get Sera and Bull. I have an idea.” He stood and tugged her arm, pulling her up into a standing position.  The elf looked at him, dazed.   
  
     “W-what,” she asked, still sniffling.

     “Go. Brush your hair and wash your face. We’re going to have some fun and not think for a bit,” the mage urged, pushing her to her mirror so that she could freshen up.  She indulged him, but not without questions.

     “Are you suggesting, alcohol, Dorian?” she asked in a whine, “That’s a really bad idea.  Alcohol does weird things to me.” She took a damp rag from a basin of water that she kept in her room and wiped her face, stopping to marvel at the bare skin on her forehead and cheeks.  She actually liked that she could see herself again, unhidden by marks that were not her own. 

    “I am definitely suggesting alcohol, and it’s a wonderful idea,” Dorian hummed, “I cannot wait to witness these weird wonders.” He waited for her to finish brushing the knots out of her hair, pulling it into a loose side-ponytail.  As soon as he noticed she was finished he grabbed her hand and whisked her out of her quarters, down the stairs, very quickly through the main hall so to avoid any unwanted confrontations, and out to the Herald’s Rest. 


	3. Completely Inappropriate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intoxicated Niamh is more promiscuous than she would like to be.

     The tavern was brimming with life, as usual, a fact for which Niamh was grateful.  She allowed the cacophonous combination of conversation, laughter, and music drown out her own thoughts and feelings.  She closed her eyes and inhaled the thick air, ripe with smoke and body odor. 

     “Glorious,” she croaked sarcastically through a cough. She was quickly brought back to reality by the shouting of familiar voices, and Dorian still tugging insistently on her hand, “Damn it Dorian, I’m coming.” She followed him over to where The Bull, his Chargers, and Sera were all waving cheerfully.

     “It’s ‘bout bloody time your arse left that tower o’yours,” Sera slurred, slightly tipsy already. She belched unapologetically and plopped down on the floor at Krem’s feet, taking another chug from the flagon she was holding.

     “Hah!” The Iron Bull’s laughter boomed over the ambient noise, “Looks like Sera’s way ahead the rest of us.  Hey Boss!”  He turned his gaze to Niamh, his expression shifting to that of shock when he saw his leader’s unmarked face and relaxed hair. “Whoa, you look different.”    
  
     Niamh looked down in shame, still not sure what to do when people commented on her appearance. Sera and Dorian both put fingers to their mouths urging the Qunari to “shush.” He understood the message, and handed signaled one of the tavern servers to bring a round of drinks.   
  
     “Tonight’s on me, Boss.” he nodded, knowingly. 

     When the drinks arrived, Niamh regarded the large glass hesitantly.  The last time she drank had been a disaster.  It was at Arlathavhen, the mass gathering of Dalish clans, and she had been offered a bottle of  _ something. _ Her foolish teenage self had gone wild and imbibed the whole thing fairly quickly.  She awoke with no memories, but all of her friends told stories of how she had attempted to seduce one of the hunters from the Sabrae clan.  Thankfully she had also been unsuccessful.

     Needless to say, the thought of drinking worried her.  She did not want to look a complete fool in front of the entire Inquisition, yet the idea of numbed emotions, and completely losing herself, not having to feel all of the emptiness Solas had left inside her, was enticing.  Without a second though, she tipped the glass back and drank.

     It had been so long since she really drank that it did not take too long for her to become completely uninhibited and incoherent for the most part.  The others seemed more composed than she, and had she more of a self-awareness, she probably would have been embarrassed, but the alcohol made her not care.

     She told Bull, the Chargers, and anyone in the Tavern who wanted to listen the story of what had happened with Solas, from beginning to end with all of the lusty, torrid details.  She may have been too drunk to be certain, but she could have sworn Krem was blushing.

    “And then, the asshole told me it was over,” she slurred, “Just like that.”  There was a roar of “booing” from the listeners, pleasing the intoxicated Inquisitor.    
  
     Before long, the tavern cleared out and it seemed the fun was over.  Dorian had left her with Sera and Krem to have some “fun” with the Bull, and Sera and Krem were both snoring in the corner.  She supposed she would have to walk herself back to her room.  She shrugged. What could possibly go wrong?   
  
     Only everything.   
  
     Niamh traipsed through the courtyard and up the steps to the main hall of Skyhold. It was dark, and the hall was empty.  She could vaguely hear the echo of her own footsteps over the buzzing in her head as she stumbled to the door that she thought would lead her to her quarters. 

     She entered into a long, narrow hallway that looked nothing like the stairwell to her room.  Her disorientation led her to enter the wrong passage way, and she was actually wandering down into the war room.  She knew it was wrong, but she was also up for an adventure.  She’d never seen the austere room at night.  She thought about how differently it would look without sunlight sputtering through the cracks in the walls. 

     Her thoughts were just as disoriented as she was, flying from one topic to another. She wondered if Cole needed to breathe or if he was just pretending. She wondered what kind of fund Dorian and The Bull were having. Subsequently she tried to mentally picture what Bull’s manly bits looked like.

     Before the next disjointed thought could arrive in her head, she felt a cold pang of steel against her chin,  a smack of of leather against her torso, and soft feather-like fur tickling her brow. She had run into something.

     “Maker’s Breath!”   
  
      Or Someone.   
  
     “Inquisitor? Are you… alright?” Commander Cullen, asked, confused as to why she was there at such an hour and why she had haphazardly bumped into him. Not that he had really been paying attention, expecting to be the only one in the area at such an hour. 

     Niamh blinked her eyes a few times to regain what senses she had left.  She felt Cullen’s firm grasp on her shoulders as he examined her face and the bulging knot that was inevitably growing on her chin. His caramel eyes were awash with concern as they gave her a ‘once over’ for any signs of trauma. She noticed the scar on his lip, which twitched as his lip did when he was nervous.

     “Oh. Cullen,” she said, doing her best to not sound as drunk as she was. “Hi.”

     “Hello…,” he mumbled with uncertainty. “Inqu-”

     “Nia,” the elf interrupted, putting a finger to his lips, “Just call me Nia, from now on.”

     The Commander examined her skeptically.  He watched his leader quite often, both out of admiration and unwanted infatuation.  He had no idea why he found the woman so damned lovely, but he did. He cursed himself mentally every time he let his mind wander to her, but tonight this was acceptable.  Something was wrong with her.

     “Alright, Nia,” he said unsteadily, “Are you alright?”

     “Much better now, Commander,” Niamh remarked boldly, moving closer to him so that there torsos were flush against one another. She stroked his cheek with her right hand.

     “N-nia, what are you doing,” Cullen croaked uncomfortable, grabbing her shoulders again to keep her at arm’s length.  He finally smelled the alcohol on her breath, and noticed her dilated pupils, “You’re clearly intoxicated.”

     “You’re clearly intoxicating, Commander, “ she said with honeyed words trying to close the distance again.  “I see the way you look at me.  I know how you feel.” She somehow escaped his grasp on her shoulders and moved closer to him.  He could feel her hot breath on him. Even in this state she was alluring.

     “Nia,” he stammered as he moved his head in an attempt to avoid a kiss, “This is completely inappropriate.”

     “Who said I was trying to be appropriate,” the Inquisitor slurred in a whisper into Cullen’s ear.  Again he pushed her back politely with this hands on her shoulders, making sure not to accidentally touch her suggestively.

     “What about Solas,” he posed, not having received the memo that Solas ended things, “ How do you think he would feel about this affair you are suggesting?”  Cullen immediately regretted his choice of words as the elf’s eyes brimmed with humongous tears that flowed down her face.  He was not sure what upset her. Was it the rejection?

     “Solas left me, Cullen,” she wailed, her normal sobs intensified by the alcohol’s lingering effects, “Clearly I’m just a distraction and there’s some kind of shitty cryptic reason why we can’t work, so my apologies if his feelings aren't my main concern.”   
  
     Cullen sighed sympathetically and looked at her softly.  He wanted so badly to comfort her, to give her what she wanted.  How could Solas discard such a wonderful woman? It infuriated him.  The apostate had everything he longed for - Niamh’s heart - and he threw it away.  Still, as much as he would have loved to whisk her away and make her forget her prodigal lover, he could not and would not be 'that' person.

     “Nia, I can’t.” He pleaded. Frantically batting away groping hands.

     “Funny,” she quipped, “That’s exactly what he said when he left me.  Maybe I’m just a problem.”  She rubbed tears away with the  palms of her hands.

     "No!” the Commander exclaimed, “You are wonderful.  I am merely saying that, well, you are clearly very drunk, and still very in love with Solas.” 

     The Inquisitor pouted, her lip quivering as she looked at him, wanting to deny it while simultaneously knowing it was the truth.

     “You deserve better than for me to take advantage of your vulnerable, drunken stupor, and I definitely deserve better than to be used to help you get over someone else, so I must thank you for your offer, and most graciously decline, milady.”  He tried to be as clear as he could without being too forceful and upset her further.

     “I’m an idiot,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Cullen.” She began to sob, again.  Cullen decided it would be acceptable to hug her. She needed it.  He pulled her into an embrace and held her as her body wracked in heartache.

     Then, he noticed that she felt heavier and was no longer moving. At first, he feared the worst, but when he heard a quiet snore, he realized she had passed out.    
  
     “Wonderful,” he groaned sarcastically.  He eased her down onto the floor, and placed her properly so that she would not asphyxiate were she to vomit, and he left the room quickly and with purpose. This was not his mess, and he would not be cleaning it up. 


	4. Banal Nadas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen confronts Solas about the Inquisitor's state, and Solas must see the consequence of his decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kind of inspired by these two songs:  
> "Goodnight, Goodnight" by Maroon 5:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uNSBq6hvU1s
> 
> AND
> 
> "Ashes and Wine" by A Fine Frenzy:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4m-j2o7yUk

     The door to the rotunda flew open with such force it startled Solas enough for him to drop the paintbrush he was holding.  He peered at the doorway to see the silhouette that could only belong to Cullen.   
  
     “Commander. Is there someth-” 

     “Don’t speak to me,” Cullen interrupted darkly, “Just listen.” Solas glanced at him warily, wondering what reason the Commander would have for being so angry with him.

     “Just go get the Inquisitor off the floor in the War Room,” he ordered, pointing in the direction where the girl was lying unconscious. “I do not know what you have done to hurt her so deeply, but I should think you would feel enough remorse to at least make sure she is safe.” The hurt in his voice was palpable.

     Solas nodded. “May I ask what is wrong with Ni- with the Inquisitor?”   
  
     “Well, she was completely drunk to the point of attempting to seduce me, and now she is passed out on the floor.  I refuse to take care of something that is yours, Solas.” Cullen explained, his voice becoming softer as he spoke. “Please, I know you still care about her. Just do the right thing instead of the convenient thing. For once.”  He waved a dismissive hand at the elf before storming out of the rotunda, leaving Solas there to suffer the weight of his own choices. 

    With a sigh, Solas straightened his posture and walked swiftly to find Niamh.

    He opened the door to the War Room cautiously, fearing what he would find, but also not wishing to wake her.  His steel blue eyes scanned the room carefully until they detected her  small form propped carefully on the floor. His stomach lurched, and he swallowed a lump in his throat as he closed the distance between them kneeling on the floor beside her.  

     He observed her tear-stained cheeks, and her red hair, now falling out of it’s loose ponytail. His gaze was drawn to her eyelashes, long and dark, pressed gracefully together as she slumbered.  Then he noticed her lips, full, and rosy as he remembered.  He mentally cursed himself as he wanted nothing more than to feel them against his own.

  
    “I was a selfish fool” he scolded himself, “She would not feel such hurt had I not encouraged this entanglement.” He simultaneously hated himself for ending things and for wishing that he had just told her the truth.  _ Perhaps she would have understood. She of all people. She-  _  He shook the hopeful thoughts from his mind.  He could not allow his resolve to waiver, not now. 

     Then, he heard the rustle of her tunic as she stirred.  She grunted and her eyes flickered open, widening when she saw him.

     “S-solas,” she rasped, not knowing whether this was some projection of her inebriated subconscious or whether she was really seeing him.  There was also a really good chance she was dreaming, too.

     “Vhenan,” he breathed forcefully, unintentionally using the term of endearment. Solas’ heart felt like lead in his chest when she said his name.  He had not seen her since the events of three nights ago.  His last memory was watching her walk away, not knowing how much he wanted to follow her.  Ignoring his mental reservations about touching her, he reached out and lifted her off the cold, stone floor, somewhat cradling her to him. He pressed his lips firmly against her forehead and held them there.

     “You didn’t call me Inquisitor,” she laughed, still slurring her words. “This isn’t real,” she added more wearily.

     Solas pressed his eyebrows together in a pained expression that so often came when he realized her words mattered to him more than he would like. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her it was real and that she was not dreaming, but he knew that would only hurt her more. It was to his benefit that she was incoherent and disoriented. Perhaps she would not remember.

     He stood, lifting her as he did.  She was limp, heavier than usual.  He wondered how much she had to drink. He figured Dorian or Sera had something to do with her current state.  He could not blame her for desiring an escape, and envied the fact that she did not have to be aware of the torrid situation.

     As he carried her through the dark and empty main hall to the door that led to her quarters, he reflected on what Cullen had said to him.  Had she really attempted to seduce him? Was she trying to get revenge? Was she just seeking comfort?  Solas felt a pang of jealousy rise in his core, even though he knew he had no right to feel it. He had no claim on her now.

     Only, he did. Cullen had said, “I will not take care of something that is  _ yours,”  _ making it abundantly clear that he knew where Niamh’s heart lay. Solas knew he still had her heart  because she still had his. It was infuriating how he spent three days delved into studies and could still not shake himself of her. She permeated his every thought and dream.  The only memories he could see in the Fade were of her.

     He exhaled in exasperation as he finally entered her room and placed her gently on her bed. She was unconscious again. In an effort to make her more comfortable, he removed the tie from her hair and the boots from her feet. He pulled back the covers from underneath her and then draped them atop her.

     He looked at her again, taking in her every feature, memorizing her.  He brushed his fingers through her hair and kissed her cheek before turning to walk away. He did not make it far as she had grabbed his wrist, holding it firmly. He stopped, but did not turn around, for fear that he would lose his resolve.

     “I don’t know if this is real,” she began, more firmly and clearly than her previous murmurs in the War Room, “I don’t know if I’ll remember any of this tomorrow, but… please...stay.”

     He still would not face her.

     “I told you. I can’t,” he insisted.

    “Can’t or won’t,” she asked in a way that sounded more like an accusation.

     He finally turned to look at her, immediately regretting the decision, his will to walk away completely crushed by her gaze.

     “We may be torn apart by time, by our duties,” he professed, “I wish to save you from a greater hurt in the future.” He returned to kneel beside her bed, and she released his arm, to place the same hand on his cheek.

     “I would rather take the risk,” she stated shakily, “I would rather know that we tried, that we appreciated the time we spent together. At one point, you would have agreed.”

     “I still agree,” he uttered quickly, “I just thought to save you from inevitable hurt.”

     “ _ Banal nadas, _ ” she repeated his own words to him. “Just stay here with me tonight.”   
  
     “ _ Ma nuvenin, _ ” he agreed, fighting his every instinct to run away, lying down behind her, sliding one arm under her head and bringing the other up to trace the edges of her ear, a mannerism he that had become habit. 

     He would undoubtedly regret this decision. There would undoubtedly be more heartache in the future, but she was right. Love like theirs was not something that happens often.  It transcended any words that could be used to describe it.  He knew that he would always carry her with him wherever he went, that she would always remain part of him. He had not realized how hard it was to live without a heart, until he found his, until he found her.  She was his heart and his vulnerability.    
  
     The world might tear them apart, but it was better to be separated by the world than for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! Thanks to all who have read!


	5. Dry Paint and Ugly Shirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian searches for the Inquisitor after losing her the night before.

     “What do you mean you haven’t seen the Inquisitor,” Dorian blurted in exasperation, “You were supposed to watch her last night, make sure she was safe!” He crossed his arms and glowered at Krem and Sera.  He knew watching the Inquisitor should have been his responsibility and the blame was not all on the two standing before him, but he had searched frantically about for her all morning long to no avail and was quite concerned.

     “To be fair, I do not even remember last night, and Sera here, “Krem reasoned, pointing a thumb toward Sera, who was nursing a throbbing headache, “She was worse off than me when you gave us our task.”

     “It was really really stupid, Dorian,” Sera added, “Really.”

     Dorian let out a defeated sigh and stomped out of the tavern.  He had literally checked through the entirety of Skyhold, even ventured to knock on her door, but received no response.  He was beginning to worry she had been hurt, or had fallen unconscious in some little nook where nobody would find her. Sera was right.  Leaving her in their charge to romp with the Bull was a mistake.

     As he walked up the steps from the courtyard into the main hall of Skyhold, he met the Commander, who was going down to the sparring circle.  He looked particularly sullen, even more so than usual.  Dorian grabbed his arm to get his attention.

     “Ah, Commander,” he greeted, “Chipper as ever, I see.” Cullen glanced at Dorian severely, before sighing.

     “I had a rough night,” he said tersely.

     “I’d love to hear all of the sordid details,” Dorian jested, “But perhaps later.  I am presently occupied trying to locate the Inquisitor.  I seem to have misplaced her last night.”

     Cullen’s eyes widened with realization. “YOU were responsible for her behavior?”

     “Behavior? Wait, you’ve seen her?”

     “Last night, she wandered into the war room in a drunken stupor.  I assume she mistook it for her quarters.”  Cullen sounded annoyed as he described the encounter. “She bumped into me, and proceeded to attempt to coax me into a sexual affair.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, between his furrowed brows. 

     “Nia?” Dorian asked in disbelief, “She tried to seduce you? Hah! Seems our fearless leader becomes a tad promiscuous when she’s under the influence.  I do wish I had been around to see it.”   
  
     “It was not amusing, Dorian,” Cullen stated dryly, “I saw a woman I respect beside herself with grief, needing comfort, needing support, and being too intoxicated to realize she was being completely inappropriate and unreasonable.  It was pitiful.”

     Dorian’s smile faded quickly, realizing that she had probably been trying to use Cullen to fill the void Solas left.  He also realized how that may have toyed with the Commander’s own feelings.  He felt horrible.  Niamh knew herself well; alcohol was a really terrible coping mechanism for her.

     “I am sorry, Commander,” Dorian conceded, “I should never have convinced her to come with me.  I just thought she could use a fun time.  Perhaps I should have not suggested so much fun. Tell me, do you know where she is?”

     “She passed out during our encounter. I left her in the war room, and made Solas retrieve her. She was not in there this morning, so I presume he did so.”

     Dorian refrained from scolding the commander for making it so that Niamh might have had to interact with the man who broke her.  He knew, once again that none of this would have transpired if it had not been for his bone-headed idea to take her drinking. He nodded, and left Cullen to pay Solas a visit.

_      I swear, if that elf has done anything to hurt my Nia further, I’ll-I’ll clip his ears.  _ Dorian tried to reason that Solas had probably just carried her to her room and she never knew it.  That’s what he hoped, because he really did not know how he would react if Solas had caused her more pain.

     He stormed into the rotunda, only to find it empty.  It seemed the elf had not been there all night, as a loaded paintbrush lay haphazardly on the floor next to a dirty palette.  All the paint had dried somewhat as well. It was unlike Solas to leave a mess. 

     Dorian decided he would try the Inquisitor’s quarters once again, hoping that she had just been too deeply asleep to hear his knocks before. He walked up the winding steps that led to her room, and as he approached the door, he heard Niamh’s voice, just an unintelligible murmur. Relief washed over him and he knocked on the door.   
  
     “Nia, my dear,” he hollered, “I’ve just come to check on you.”   
  
     He heard the sounds of her shuffling about, frantically. “C-coming!”  The Inquisitor’s voice was pitched as if startled, but there were no hints of despair that had been present before.  Dorian hoped that this was a good sign.   
  
     The door opened, but only slightly, enough for the Inquisitor to peek her head out.  Her hair was once again a ratted mess with strands sticking out every direction. “Hey, Dorian,” she greeted, sounding tired, but not weary, “I’m alive, no thanks to you, Krem, or Sera.” She chuckled good-naturedly.   
  
_      Humor?  _ Dorian was taken aback by her overnight recovery to her former self. Had the alcohol been effective? He would have asked her had he not seen a the familiar off-white tunic she was wearing peeking at him through the cracked door. He knew it did not belong to her.    
  
     “I’m sorry for abandoning you,” Dorian apologized, “I do hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” He batted his eyelashes playfully and pouted.   
  
     “Oh, I suppose,” she responded, “ After all, I have forgiven much worse.”    
  
     “Wonderful,” he exclaimed, “I won’t keep you, my friend. It looks like I’ve taken you away from your company.” He winked at her, and was pleased when he saw the blush creep across her face as she realized he knew Solas was there.   
  
     “How’d you know?” She asked, squinting at him in disbelief.

     “I’d notice that ugly shirt of his anywhere,” Dorian answered loud enough for Solas to hear.  He heard a predicted grumble from inside Niamh’s room.    
  
     “Well, shit,” Niamh groaned softly, just loud enough to be audible to Dorian, “Please don’t be mad.  He’s not using me or anything. We just… we’re going to try to hold on to this. To us. Its -”    
  
     “Hush,” Dorian whispered, placing his index finger over her mouth, “I’d never be angry or disappointed at you for listening to your heart.  Too few people do that these days.” He added, “I will be angry, however, if you don’t tell me  _ everything _ later.”   
  
     “I wouldn’t dare keep secrets from you,” Niamh said with a smile, “Thank you Dorian...for everything.”     
  
     He winked at her as she shut the door, lingering a bit after.  He heard her speak and then giggle, followed by a muffled remark from Solas which caused her giggling to become laughter. Dorian smiled, satisfied to hear his friend in better spirits. This was something that would ‘do.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had not intended to write this chapter, but I realized that I had begun in a Dorian perspective, so it would be more complete if I ended in a Dorian perspective. In other words, I wanted to tie up the loose ends.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who commented and read. 'Twas most fun.


End file.
